If it doesn't kill you, it's sure to leave a horrible scar
by Sweetloot
Summary: He knew this would probably happen... [Spoilers for S12:Ep18. Can either be seen as friendship or something more, your choice.]


He knew this would probably happen, but he didn't really put much thought into how much it would _fucking hurt goddamn son of a bitch!_

Tucker hisses out a breath between his teeth, his jaw far too clenched to allow any other kind of breathing to happen. He was on his knees, one hand balled into a fist to support his weight against the ground, though it was becoming more and more difficult to stay upright. He could hear a deep, droning voice over the buzz of a shield. There was another voice, higher in pitch but with no less malice that the first one.

_Felix and Locus._

_God_, those two could not shut up. Tucker really wished they would. He should probably be thinking about how much he hoped they wouldn't shoot him in the fucking head, but that didn't sound so bad right now, as horrible as that sounds. At least then his stomach wouldn't feel like it was on fucking _fire_.

There was a flash of light and then their voices were gone, and so was Tucker's balance. His fist slips out from under him, his body following suit as he lands with a _thud_ on his side, the movement causing a bright spike of pain to shoot through his stomach to his chest before it finally subsided, leaving a radiating pain around the entry wound in his gut, the skin around the wound feeling super heated as his hands pressed down on his abdomen, his fingers bound to feel slick if it weren't for the gloves covering his hands.

_'Tucker, Tucker!'_

_'Shut up, Church. Fuck, can't you see I'm sleeping?'_

Those words should have come from his mouth, but he couldn't find the energy to form them, his hands just barely having enough strength to make the feeling of his guts slipping and sliding out of him go away. He wasn't sure if that was just his mind playing a trick on him, or if his insides really were lying in the dirt, but he didn't want to feel that anymore. _Fuck_, why was he so tired again?

There was a green light in his face, someone was batting his hands away and Tucker didn't protest, his hands felt limp anyway. He couldn't see who it was that was doing the batting because attempting to would mean lifting his helmeted head off the ground and he just wasn't feeling up to that right now.

He was being flipped onto his back, _shit_, and then there was a groan – _'did I do that?'_ – followed by a hiss as the person put their weight onto his stomach with far more strength than he possessed right now.

Someone was saying something – who were they talking to? The green light still bounced around his face, sometimes disappearing and then returning. Fuck someone turn off the lights, he was trying to sleep.

_'Open your fucking eyes, asshole! You can't do all this heroic crap then die here, that's bullshit!'_

_'Fuck off.'_

_'Don't you tell me to fuck off, ass-stain! You have got to open your goddamn eyes and stay awake, you are not dying!'_

_'I'm dying? That explains so much.'_

_'No! What did I just fucking tell you? You never fucking listen to me, but for once in your goddamn life, listen to me now! You are not dying!'_

_'I dunno, I've been told I'm pretty fucking stubborn. Might not listen to you this time either.'_

_'Oh, you're gonna fucking listen.'_

Tucker's arm twitched. A small, pinprick sized jolt of pain could be felt in his inner elbow.

_'Dude, did you just fucking electrocute me?'_

_'I don't have fingers anymore, asshole. How else was I supposed to pinch you?'_

_'You pinched me.'_

_'Oh, don't think at me with that tone.'_

_'You fucking pinched me.'_

_'I can slap you if that'll make you feel better.'_

_'Good fucking luck, blinky.'_

_'Come on, Tucker, what's a few hits between friends? _

_Tucker?_

_Tucker! Don't you fucking do this, you still owe me a beer, you asshole._

_Goddammit, Tucker! Wake-'_

But Tucker couldn't focus on the words anymore, Church's shouts becoming background noise, the same kind of buzzing of voices that were happening outside his head too. There was still a weight on his stomach, the hands there feeling like they were shaking before pressing down with steadier hands. Tucker let out a pitiful moan, the sound getting lodged somewhere in his throat before fading out.

In the muddled thoughts of his pain-addled mind, his brain thought to latch onto Junior, appropriate given that where the knife hit him was just above the "C" shaped scar that marked his son's birth. His son's birth really was not one he particularly liked to think on, mostly because he didn't remember much of it given the fucking coma he had slipped into, but he remembered the pain. This was similar, yet different than that, except this felt worse, somehow. No, the pain from Junior's birth was unimaginable, but at least that _stopped_ after a while, Doc having given him something to help with the pain before he had slipped under. This though, this was radiating, feeling like it went from his gut all the way through to his spine and then bloomed into a pillar of agony that lingered over everything it touched. He wishes he would just pass out already, this teeter-tottering between consciousness and the abyss starting to become maddening.

And then he did, the sweet, sweet embrace of unconsciousness taking hold of him as he's dragged down into its darkened maw.

_'Well,'_ he thinks as the sounds around him slowly fade, _'at least I'll get another cool scar out of it.'_

* * *

><p>Cool scars don't count on corpses, Tucker.<p>

Did he live? Did he die? Well, I don't know, and neither does the rest of this fucking fandom.

Eh, not my best, but I just wanted to write something. Thanks for reading!

(Title comes from "Bones Shatter" by Hedley)


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